


A Fine Collection of Firsts

by Kosho



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Fallout 4, Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Crush, Awkward Dates, Awkward First Times, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Kissing, Awkward Romance, Awkward Sexual Situations, Awkward Tension, Awkwardness, F/F, F/M, First Dates, First Kiss, First Love, First Meetings, First Time, Fun, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Not Serious, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Serious
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-12 19:18:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10497786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kosho/pseuds/Kosho
Summary: I know I have a billion other projects I should be working on, but I didn't want to treat my treasured readers to subpar work for the sake of getting things done. So since I wanted to work on something, I decided to work on something else entirely until I get more set in my ideas. To challenge myself, I wanted to work with trying out a collection of first time things for many different pairings. I really think I box myself into a lot of the same things, so this will also help me break out of the norms a bit.So far, I have planned what the tags say: First meetings, first kisses, first dates, first love etc. I might break the canon a little bit, and this may well be a bit AU at times for some things I have planned, but I'll try to make it good. Probably will alternate a bit between fandoms so I can keep it fresher.





	1. First Meeting: MacCready

Leander sat alone in the Third Rail, drink in hand. There was a break in the action that kept him constantly busy, and the atmosphere was just the right mix of soothing and terrible. Magnolia always made this a worthwhile stop, her singing a point of interest for anyone travelling through Goodneighbor, and Charlie’s overpriced booze that was always just a touch watered down was better than trying to deal with whatever the local caravans were offering, strong with a side of rads.  Dragging his feet up on the table, her crossed them at the ankles, sighing in relief into his whiskey. Most people were too tense to really kick back, but time with Hancock on the road left him all but encouraging him to unwind as much as he cared to when he was here. When he first left the vault, he’d never stopped to think he’d come to a place like this, a place where those that were considered freaks, and outcast by others called home. Now? It was practically a second home for him too, he could no longer count the number of times he’d stop in just to chat with Daisy and catch up, or to trade barbs with Charlie, to go up to Hancock’s office just to crash on his couch for an hour or two when he needed to recharge. That was what made the disturbance in the back particularly memorable. He could hear the increasingly loud sound of arguing, trying to push it out of his thoughts to listen to Magnolia’s song with the other patrons. 

 

It carried on for a time with no sign that it would escalate to physical violence, but progressively growing more heated. His eyes fell to the holster on his belt, fingers idly brushing the polished metal of his recent creation. He had the habit of naming his weapons, and this one? He called it the Widowmaker, with good reason. Small though it was, it was kitted out to put even the hardest asshole in his grave with one well aimed shot, two if they were smart enough to wear decent armor. Alright,  _ three _ if he had been drinking all night and his target was quick on their feet. Sighing again, he pulled his feet down, abandoning his glass, but taking the bottle. He wasn’t an idiot, if he left it behind, watered down or not, someone would surely take it. Lazily freeing his gun, he sauntered into the back room, the culprits immediately obvious. Two men, arguing with a third who didn’t seem the least bit bothered by the things they said to him. Leandre got between them, gun pointed between the eyes of the one he addressed as Barnes, gesturing with his head towards the door. 

 

“You fucks  mind keeping it down? You’re disturbing my break and I’m thinking you should either move along or I’ll  _ help _ you.” he growled. 

 

Winlock reached for his gun, but Barnes shook his head. Not the place or time to fight, his eyes were saying. They stared at him coldly, flicking a glance back to the other man, now casually seated across from them. 

 

“You got lucky this time. Next time we catch you workin’ our turf, you’ll pay.” Winlock threatened. 

 

Leandre pointed it to him, his mouth thinning as he closed it. He didn’t argue, eyes narrowing as he looked at him. It was like he was trying to memorize his features for later. Probably was, he didn’t care who these fucks were, only that they were leaving. Smarter bastards had already tried to take him out and failed, he wasn’t the least bit threatened by two guys who didn’t look to have a handful of brain cells between them. He was prepared to turn around and return to his seat before the man called out to him. 

 

“Didn’t ask for your help. Not looking for friends and if you’re trying to preach or sell shit, I ain’t interested.” he said. 

 

Leandre cocked his head, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips, roguish and lopsided. “I didn’t come to help you. Jus’ like I said: They were bothering me.” 

 

He gave a sarcastic chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “They bother everyone. Still, don’t know many people that don’t mind pissing off the Gunners.” 

 

Holstering his gun, he shrugged absently. “I’ve pissed off a lot of people. Gunners don’t scare me.  They seemed more upset with you.” 

 

“Yeah, they are. I used to run with them, but I didn’t agree with their methods. You could say they’re not happy i’m still taking jobs in their ‘territory’. Hancock is cool though, let’s me set up down here, and they don’t want to start shit here, so I’m safe.” he explained. 

 

Nodding to the rifle, he thought it over a moment. “You any good with that?” 

 

“Please, I’m the best you’ll find.” he snorted indignantly. 

 

Leandre pulled out a leather pouch of caps, rolling it slowly in his hand. “You lookin’ for work right now?” 

 

“Not going to bother asking anything else? Not interested in my credentials, or how much? I’ll take the job, no problem there...just not used to not taking a fu--quiz before.” he muttered. 

 

He took a drink, plunking down on the couch next to him. “You said you can shoot. That’s good enough for me.”

 

He took the bottle when Leandre offered, tipping it back before answering. “What about you? Clearly  _ you _ ’ _ re _ not half bad already or you wouldn’t have come back here ready to shoot. Why do you need my help?” 

 

“Doesn’t hurt to have someone watching my back. Besides, maybe I’m bored and could use someone hanging around asking questions.” he joked. “Incidentally, what’s your name?” 

 

“Robert Joseph MacCready. Don’t call me that. MacCready is fine.” he said. “You?” 

 

“Leandre James Ashton. Leandre is fine. Just thought I’d match you by telling the whole thing. We aren’t married and your not my mom, so I’d prefer never hearing the whole thing.” he snorted. 

 

Leandre tossed the pouch to him, not the least bit surprised when he dumped it on the floor to count it out. “There’s more than I charge here…” 

 

“Don’t care. Are you actually complaining about that? I’ve got more than enough to keep myself stocked with whatever I could conceivably need, I’m not worried about it.” he told him. “Now… got some very important work for you.”

 

“Alright, boss. What you got for me?” he asked, putting the caps back and stuffing the bag in his pocket. “I’m ready for anything. “

 

“Good answer. This is hard work. Need you to head back out there with me and…” he paused dramatically. “We’re going to see if Charlie will part with something better. I’m on break, actual work can wait until tomorrow when I’m good an’ hung over.” 

 

“You’re the boss. I’m not going to argue with that.” MacCready laughed. 


	2. First Meeting: Cullen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since you meet him rather quickly into Inquisition, I decided to alter the events a bit. In this case, Lavellan meets Cullen in Kirkwall.

Mireille rarely ventured into the Gallows. Her Keeper had warned her it was dangerous to venture into human cities, but the city had such interesting wares, and the Tranquil that others tended to shy away from were very kind to her. She’d worked where she could to scrape up the coin to shop, and it was unfortunate that everything she saw was catching her interest. The practical things could help, though she knew her clan might not embrace it. Potions and injury kits could make life easier for them, but the weapons were nice too, would make hunting less strenuous. Fine armors that could prevent the injuries in the first place, and  _ oh _ , they had the most lovely rings she’d seen. Nothing against the fine craftsman in her clan, but these were so...remarkable, that was the word she was looking for. Caught up in her exploration of the stands, she missed the approach of heavy, metallic footsteps just behind her. She hummed quietly to herself, feeling pain in her arm as a hand curled too tightly around her arm. Looking to see who had grabbed her, she saw a man, a templar by the armor, dragging her slowly away from the market. She was no city elf, didn’t belong in the alienage, and she’d left her staff at home, no outward indication she was a mage at all. This man wasn’t taking her to the Circle, was he? No...he headed away from the building, the warm sun vanishing as he pulled her into the shadows. 

 

Mireille had heard frightening tales of the things humans did to her kind, and had been sternly warned away from templars. Even disguised, they said templars were among the worst humans she could run into. About to try and apologize for whatever he thought she had done, he clapped a metal-clad hand over her mouth. His other delved into her pocket, pulling out her pouch of coins. 

 

“What’s this? Been busy, haven’t you?” he asked. “How’d you come by this? Been pilfering off the good, hard-working folk in the city?” 

 

Tossing the pouch to the ground, he reached for her shoulder, slipping his hand under the collar of her robes. The feel of metal on skin rose goosebumps over her, a deeply unpleasant feeling twisting in her gut. He leaned closer, his hot breath on her ear making a hint of bile rise in her throat. 

 

“Or...perhaps you earned this poaching clients from the Rose…” he suggested. “Why don’t I find out which?” 

 

Her frightened eyes squeezed shut, trying to block everything out, shrinking back against the cold stone to appear as small as she could. Trailing his hand down her side, he tugged at the hem of her skirt, raising it slowly. His eyes watched the way her golden skin appeared from under it with interest, the slight curve of her hip coming into view. Tucking the fabric into the hip of her panties, he was about to continue until a stern voice raised not far behind him. 

 

“What are you doing? Get away from the girl and get back to your duties. I’ll be reporting this, you’ll be lucky if the punishment is  _ only _ severe.” he growled. 

 

The templar skulked away, glaring back over his shoulder. She couldn’t tell if it was aimed to her rescuer or to her, but it was a look that sent chills through her. He approached her slowly, reaching out to her, though she flinched away. Of course she would, shaken up by what had very nearly befallen her. He tried again, grateful when she relented to his assistance. Pulling her sleeve back into its proper place on her shoulder, he fixed her skirt, bending to retrieve the pouch of coins for her. 

 

“Are you alright, miss...miss?” he faltered, unsure how to address her. 

 

“M...Mireille. My name is Mireille Lavellan…” she mumbled nervously. 

 

Maker she was just a kid.  He lightly patted her head, offering what he hoped was less a menacing snarl and more a reassuring smile. It made her feel a little better, and she was absolutely grateful that he stepped in when he did. Her eyes fell to the symbol on his armor. He was a templar too, but...he had saved her, even though she wasn’t human, even though she’d heard none would care, he  _ did. _

 

“Well then, Miss Lavellan. I’m free at the moment, shall I escort you around the market? I assume you’re only here for a bit, I can walk you out of the city when you’re done. Your clan will be relieved to see you.” he offered. 

 

Nodding eagerly, she stepped closer to his side, keeping her head down as she did. It occurred to her she’d never asked his name, and she wanted to make sure she didn’t forget it. 

“May I ask your name?” she asked curiously. 

 

He paused his slow steps, looking down over his shoulder at her. “It’s Cullen. Cullen Rutherford. If you happen to come back, you can seek me out.” 

 

“Th...thank you.” she mumbled faintly. 

 

She was young, didn’t look like she could defend herself, and after seeing how readily one of the men was willing to disregard what the Order stood for, he felt sorry for her. It seemed the least he could do to keep watch over her until she left. 

 

“It’s nothing. Was there anything you were looking at in particular?” he questioned. 

 

Her eyes fell to the jewelry again, forcing her gaze instead to the medical supplies, pointing. It was selfish to want something for herself when the clan provided all she needed. This was something she could do for them. Cullen led the way to the stand, dutifully standing watch while she accepted the merchandise, emptying her coin pouch on the counter. He stared intently at the woman to make sure she wouldn’t rip her off. Pushing back the excess nervously, Mireille put it away with care, depositing it into her pocket. Carrying the pack she’d been handed, he led her back to the entrance of the city, matching her smile when she waved her goodbyes. The Dalish weren’t known for staying put for long, and if she happened to mention what had happened, it was likely they’d head out quickly. The chances she’d come back were slim, and yet, he couldn’t help feeling this wasn’t the last time they’d meet. It was a funny feeling, but looking at her gave him that impression. 


	3. First Meeting: Jacob Frey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This could have gone better, I'm sure. Generally, I like it.

Asta frowned at the state of the clothes she had to leave behind. Her favorite dress, torn and bloody. Clicking her tongue, she changed into the outfit offered up by her contact. It was ragged, tight in places and didn’t suit her normal style, but it worked for now. No one bothered to spare a second look for someone who appeared to have been stricken by poverty and that suited her needs perfectly just then. Not that she wasn’t careful about being sneaky when a situation called for it, but camouflaging with the surroundings meant she didn’t  _ have  _ to be as cautious. Testing her boots, the blades flicked out and back in properly, at least the scuffle hadn’t affected the mechanisms. Looking herself over one last time, she brushed her fingers over the nick on her cheek, the area around her eye and cheek bruising already. Could have been worse than just a fist, would have been worse in fact, had her opponents not been foolish enough to charge her unarmed. Her lip was split down the center, the blood already washed away, and only the angry red tint down the center suggested it was recent. She’d dallied enough, it was time to get back to work, her target wouldn’t wait forever. 

 

“Thank you again. I’ll pay you back for your kindness.” she called on her way out. 

 

“Not necessary, dearie. Do be careful!” she shouted back. 

 

Asta rounded the corner when she left the building, keeping her attention on the crowds milling about. Glancing up the side of the building, she readied herself to make the quick climb until a group came in the opposite direction. She quickly propped herself inconspicuously against the wall, trying to look as much like she belonged there as she could manage. The smell of booze was thick on them, fresh from the tavern, she’d wager. They stumbled past, and she turned to move, imagining that was the end of it, until one came back, slamming her into the wet brick. It took her by surprise, but she knew better than to react and risk missing her target. A hand clenched her chin, tilting her head back to get a good look at her face. One of his friends called to him, and he let go, rushing to catch up, apparently unwilling to ruin his mood. Brushing herself off, she was glad it hadn’t escalated, hiding bodies was a bother she'd been told, and she had business. Quickly making the ascent when the coast was clear, she silently crept along the rooftops, keeping an eye on the ground so she wouldn’t pass him by accident. She could see him just across the road, too far to jump, climbing down and rushing through was her best option. 

 

Rushing to get down, she was met with a wall of people again, too tall to see over, she weaved her way through, the sound of fast, light footsteps dashing in the opposite direction distracted her for a moment. A small boy was clutching something that seemed important to him, but she couldn’t be bothered with it. He was  _ right there _ . Reaching for her dagger, she frowned, feeling all over for it. He was too well guarded to get close enough for the boot knife, and she’d not had the chance to find anything better for long range. Her intent had been to get as close as she could and pitch the dagger, and when the guards dispersed to find the source, she’d go in and finish him off, but that wasn’t a-- the boy!  Something bumped her when she touched ground, and it had to be him. Biting her lip, she weighed her options, if she left, she was effectively abandoning her target and she’d have to start tracking him from scratch again. All that effort to figure out a point where she could catch him, all those bribes to get ahold of his ever changing schedule would be wasted… 

 

“You sure this is her?” a voice asked behind her. 

 

She looked over her shoulder, the boy from before, guilt written on his face like he had been scolded severely. 

 

“Mhm.” he replied, not looking at her. 

 

“Well go on then, give it back and say you’re sorry.” the voice demanded. 

 

Her attention roamed next to him to see who it was. There was a man next to him, sharply dressed, his expression hovering over irritation. Clearly he was familiar with the boy, had he also fallen victim to him before? He didn’t move to return her weapon, and instead, the man carefully pried it from his hand, appraising it silently. It wasn’t new, but it had been sharpened recently, and by the letters engraved in the blade, it was important for some reason. He handed it over to her after a moment, smiling pleasantly as he did. Taking it carefully from him, she nodded her head in thanks, clutching it tightly like she was savoring its return. Her head whipped around to observe, but the man she’d so painstakingly tracked was long gone now. 

 

“Looking for someone in particular?” he asked. 

 

“I  _ was. _ ” she sighed. 

“Who is AM?” he asked conversationally. 

 

Cursing under her breath, her shoulders slumped in defeat. At this rate, she’d never become a full member, not if all her work had been thwarted by a bloody child of all things. 

 

“I am.” she mumbled. “Astalicia Morgan.” 

 

It wasn’t how she preferred an introduction to go, but considering the situation, it was the best she had to offer at the moment. Reluctantly, she replaced the blade at her side, carefully hidden under the ratty blouse, turning to leave so she could go back to the drawing board. His hand shot out in front of her, and she spared him a glance, his brows raised expectantly as if he wasn’t about to let her leave without a proper introduction. Her breath leaking out slowly, she gripped his hand, shaking it once. 

 

“And you are?” she asked when he offered no name.

 

“So glad you asked. Name’s Jacob Frey.” he said. 

 

That name was familiar. Now she studied his features intently, trying to place where she might have seen him before. Her brain sifted through mountains of names, trying to pull out the memory of how she knew his.  _ Right _ , that was it, she didn’t personally know him, but he was a known man here, ran the Rooks. What was he...bloody hell, there was no way he stopped his own affairs  _ just _ to make the kid return what he stole, right?” 

 

“I...suppose I owe you my thanks.” she said when the realization hit her. 

 

“You don’t owe me a thing, love. Just happened to be in the area.” he said, his shift in expression doing nothing to hide that obvious lie. “What I’m most curious about is what a woman like you is doing hiding in an alley in these rags.” 

 

The child had long since taken the opportunity to run away while the focus was off him, it seemed. She looked him over fully this time, the glint of a weapon at his hip, the gauntlet adorning his arm, her eyes widened with realization. He was what she was working hard to get to. No point in lying about her itinerary then, he had probably already guessed at what she was doing. 

 

“ _ That _ was my chance to finally…” she sighed. “I’m only a novice.” 

 

Gesturing to her dagger and her boot, she shrugged. “I’m not even supposed to have these. I was trying to prove I was ready for more, and I’ve not done that. The clothes...I borrowed these, my own were damaged in pursuit. Thought I’d blend better in this.” 

 

Jacob curled a finger under her chin, raising her to look at him properly, examining the marks left on her face. Odds were good she was a fair bit sturdier than she’d been given credit for, and her willingness to go so far to track and at least attempt to fulfill a proper assassination was promising. 

 

“Think you can handle a bit more work?” he wondered. 

 

“I can handle anything,  _ more _ if asked.” she huffed defiantly. 

 

“Is that so?’ he chuckled. “Well then… why don’t you come with me. I think I have something more to your liking than this old thing.” 

 

“My training -- “ she began.

 

“I don’t believe I ever said this would hinder it. Might even help.” he told her, walking away, his pace slow in case she inclined to follow. “Unless...you feel you  _ can’t _ handle it after all…” 

 

Hearing that, she adjusted her skirt, a tad too big on her, shuffling to keep pace with him. Asta knew very well she had what it took to do whatever he was asking of her. All she ever needed was just that one chance to prove she was capable, and if this man was willing to give her that opportunity, she wasn’t fool enough to let it slip by as spectacularly as her chance to take out her target had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a mini easter egg on the name. Astalicia is a Final Fantasy XIV reference :D. 
> 
> -I'm going to add in FFXIV.   
> -Because I figure that the others I intend to add perhaps met normally, I might just move on to the next section. I can always come back :D


End file.
